


to brave the sea of rage

by kalypsobean



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Imprisonment, M/M, Power Imbalance, Psychological Torture, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Thorin was too wretched to be angry any longer at his misfortunes, and was even beginning to think of telling the king all about his treasure and his quest…</i><br/>-- The Hobbit, "Barrels out of Bond"</p>
            </blockquote>





	to brave the sea of rage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savageseraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/gifts).



> i was super depressed when i wrote this so i am sorry if this is a different kind of dark and kinky than you imagined. 
> 
> some dialogue is taken straight from the book but the movie versions are taken into account as well.
> 
> title from 'only a matter of time' by dream theater.

"Very well," said the king. "Take him away and keep him safe, until he feels inclined to tell the truth, even if he waits a hundred years." Thranduil certainly had that kind of time, for he was as long-lived as his Sindar kin before him. The dwarf, he supposed, would have much less; he had seen many dwarves live and die just in his rule, limited communications though they had. This one had a royal bearing, to be sure, but that would not stop him aging, wasting away.

Thranduil knew that it was not such a punishment, either, to lock a dwarf away in a cave devoid of sun and comfort, for that was the kingdom in which the dwarves thrived. He ordered the dwarf to be well fed, and he would have been content to wait, if he had been the only dwarf to come upon his realm that day.

The presence of the other dwarves was a puzzlement, at first, though they were no more forthcoming than their leader. Thranduil could only guess at their purpose, though it could not entirely be a coincidence that so many dwarves were travelling through the wood all at once, with rumours of the King under the Mountain beginning to reach his ears via those of the scouts. He did not put much stock in rumours, for they had let him down before, but it did make him curious; he thought perhaps the dwarves had believed the portents, or been the cause of them. The other dwarves had an advantage - they had been brought in together, and remained close to each other, able to communicate through knocking on the walls of their cells. The first one, though, the one who had the air of a leader; he had no one, and had not confessed to the fates of his friends.

Thranduil would start there.

 

"What were you doing in the forest?" he asked. The dwarf said nothing; he stared at the wall as if it was speaking to him. It may well have been; the caves were once mines, in more friendly times, though the dwarves who had dug them had found nothing, or had decided to keep it for themselves. "Why did you and your folk attack my people?"

"We were looking for food and drink, because we were starving," the dwarf said. His voice was low and even, the same way it had been the first time Thranduil had heard him speak. 

"You are not starving now," Thranduil said. He knew this was true - apart from the first few meals, the dwarf had eaten and drank all that he was given. "What brought you into my forest?"

The dwarf said nothing. Thranduil studied him more closely; in the dimmer light of the cave, somehow, the dwarf seemed larger, at one with the space around him. Gold threads shimmered where they had not frayed away or else been covered with dirt and dust. Thranduil had no doubt that it was true gold, spun to thin fibres and sewn in especially.

"So you are the King under the Mountain, noble and loyal to the end." Thranduil felt pleasure as the dwarf turned towards him, and met his eyes for the first time. It was the kind of pleasure that makes one feel taller than they are, as if they have the control of everyone in the room and only need to shift minutely in order to command them.

"You know nothing," the dwarf said. It was not a denial.

"A pity it is," Thranduil said. Though he normally did not, he chose his words with care, assembling them in his mind before he spoke them, the inflection deliberately chosen. " A pity that you did not come to me in friendship. I do not share the grudge of my elders, and could have helped you."

The dwarf did not reply, again, though his demeanour had changed; it was as if he no longer chose to hide, and he too had risen, commanding more space than his body required. There were still bars between them, impenetrable and unyielding, for they were of dwarf-make, and the irony was not lost on Thranduil. It was not, however, a fact which he chose to share. If the dwarf had recognised the craftsmanship, and had not discovered a secret way out devised in case the cage was used against his maker, it was a weapon better deployed at another time.

"That would make you Thorin, then," he says, expecting both the flinch and the glare he received. The dwarf was tempestuous, and it made him malleable. Thranduil was almost disappointed, for he had secretly harboured a wish to test his skills on the dwarf - he had been wondering how easy it would be to open a dwarf's skin, whether if he tied a dwarf just so, he would see those unfamiliar muscles contract under weathered skin. He had tired himself out on wondering how smooth their skin would be under his fingers, and if a dwarf would think the same of him if he allowed those short, rough hands to touch him in turn. It was curiosity, he knew, borne of an age alone and the novelty of such an experience, but the wanting had left his mouth dry and his body spent more than once in the days since this door had closed. And to have a dwarf of rank! How easily the other dwarves would fall once their leader was subdued, and it would not be below him to show off, once the dwarf was tame. And tame he almost was; though he stood tall even now, his shoulders had fallen forward and his legs seemed almost not to hold him, for he held himself upright with a hand on the wall, as if the stone was his only remaining source of strength now that his shield of secrecy had been ripped away.

There was something in the dwarf's eyes, though, an element he could not easily interpret. It was as if the dwarf had been too long without a home and had begun to return to the elements Aulë had crafted his ancestors from. He had the sense that, if he did not break the dwarf, there would be a calamity so great it would shape the rest of the Age; though he was close, it was not enough. It needed more time; a few days, or weeks, and the stone walls would no longer provide strength.

"I will come back for you, Thorin," he said, "and you will need your strength for when I do."

He thought he heard a broken gasp behind him as he turned, holding his cloak back from catching on his boots out of habit, though it would intimidate the dwarf, he suspected. 

 

It would have worked, if a pesky hobbit with a magic Ring had not taken it upon himself to interfere.


End file.
